Not Giving In
by CiaraShayee
Summary: Thousands of miles from home, Staff Sergeant McCarty lost more than the war had any right to take from him—his best friend, his independence, and his memories. He is hiding from a life he does not remember. She is running from a life she wishes she could forget. She can only hope he'll be happy when he finally remembers, because this time, she's not giving in.
1. McCarty

**Sooo, me again. Hey! I wrote this for the Inked Contest hosted by TwiFandomNews. It was partly inspired by a plot bunny I adopted from Sunshine1220 a loooong time ago, and partly by my awe and respect for the soldiers who give up so much to serve their countries.**

**This tale comes in two parts. The first is posting now, and the second will post later on today. I'm honoured to say it received two awards in the contest—OnlyInValhalla's Validator's pick and Brierlynn03's Judge's pick. Thank you to both of you ladies, and to anybody else who voted for Not Giving In.**

**Also, a big thank you to annaharding for her beta magic and to Belizabetty Masen for the GORGEOUS banner she made me. If you haven't seen it, come find me on Facebook in my reader group, Ciara Shayee's Subconscious.**

**Summary: **Thousands of miles from home, Staff Sergeant McCarty lost more than the war had any right to take from him—his best friend, his independence, and his memories. He is hiding from a life he does not remember. She is running from a life she wishes she could forget. She can only hope he'll be happy when he finally remembers, because this time, she's not giving in

**Disclaimer - **Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Not Giving In**

**McCARTY**

The sticky heat of a typical Texas day clung to McCarty as he climbed out of his air-conditioned truck. Having just had it reupholstered the past week, it still smelled of new leather and the evergreen-scented _Little Tree_ hanging from the rear-view. Chunky, dressed in a paint black as pitch, and with an engine that roared, the truck matched the look its owner tended to go for. As he strolled along the sidewalk head-to-toe in a charcoal muscle tee and cargo pants, more than one person stopped to look. Not that he noticed. He was on a mission.

The bell over the door announced his arrival. Garrett Magee looked away from the paper spread over the counter, his lips curling up in an almost-toothless smile. "Hey, McCarty. Your usual?"

Rubbing his jaw, McCarty considered his options. His morning—early though it still was—had been utter horse-shit so far, but the smell of fresh coffee beans and the sight of Maggie carrying a cake out of the kitchen _might just_ be capable of turning it around.

"Please, Gare. And a slice of whatever that is, Mags." He flashed her a grin for good measure, taking his regular spot at the counter and setting his backpack on the floor at his feet. He could see the door to the street and the doors to the bathrooms from there; all the exits were covered. At this point, it had become an ingrained habit.

"Here you go, sugar," Maggie drawled, sliding the plate toward him. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. "It's a new recipe, so be honest with me, you hear?"

"Everythin' you make is delicious, Mags. I doubt this'll be any different." Forking a chunk into his mouth, he figured it was good sense to ask what he was eating. "What is it, anyway?"

"Poppy seed with lemon frosting. The trial run was too dry. Hopefully this one turned out better."

_Holy moly._

"I'll take the whole thing. Just...wrap it up and I'll take it to go."

Maggie's laugh lit up the whole café. She couldn't have looked more delighted as her weathered hands cupped her wrinkled, smiling cheeks. "You like it? Really?"

"_Love _it," McCarty corrected, shooting her a wink as she rushed off to serve another customer. That was just fine with him; he could enjoy his cake in peace and figure out the rest of his day. He'd asked Riley to clear his schedule for the morning, but he had a busy afternoon including a couple of small pieces and a three-hour session on an old buddy's back piece.

Slowly, the café began to fill up. McCarty moved from his spot at the bar to one of the small tables in the back. They had the comfy club chairs. He loved them so much, he'd talked Garrett into telling him where he got them so he could get a couple for his house. Sinking into the leather with a sigh, he pulled out his tablet and got to work sketching. The design for Jake's piece was all done, but one of his earlier appointments had emailed over some inspiration pics in preparation for his session. McCarty shook his head with a quiet, slightly exasperated curse.

"More fuckin' dragons." He appreciated a good dragon tatt as much as the next guy, but _seriously_. Couldn't people think outside the damn box anymore?

Reminding himself that he was the artist, not the canvas, he started sketching out a few different designs for the client to look at. As usual, McCarty lost himself in his drawing until the quiet _thunk_ of a mug hitting the table disturbed him.

"A refill," Garrett said with a tip of his imaginary hat. Then he set a small plate beside the steaming coffee and hurried back to the counter to help his wife with the mid-morning rush.

"Thanks, Gare," McCarty mumbled with a grin, reaching for the cake without bothering with the fork. Crumbs dropped into his lap, but it was no biggie. The cake was too good to worry about crumbs.

The distinct feeling of eyes on him set McCarty's teeth on edge. The hairs on his arms raised. Glancing around, he soaked in the sounds and atmosphere of his favorite coffee shop.

The slow _thump-whir-thump _of the overhead fans did little to cool the mid-summer heat sneaking in through the windows. An old stereo serenaded the patrons with twangy riffs and drawled lyrics. The smell of coffee beans, cake, and all the oiled wooden furniture created a deliciously comforting aroma. Frowning, McCarty's eyes skipped over businessmen, Mr. Allan from the gas station down the street, and Mrs. Weber from the laundromat. Then they danced over a woman and her kid in the corner—

_There._

A pair of big, dark eyes peered at him over the back of the seat. When the little girl, who couldn't have been older than four or five, realized she was busted, she squeaked loud enough McCarty heard it clear across the busy room and swung around to face her momma.

Her momma, who, McCarty couldn't help but notice, was mighty fine to look at.

Offering her a brief smile and a nod, he refocused on his tablet and his cake, but he couldn't shake her smirking face from his mind and absolutely couldn't resist a few sly glances.

She had long chestnut hair, half up in a messy knot and half down; the loose waves tumbled over her shoulders. Her lips were painted a deep cherry red, her eyes as dark as her daughter's and crinkled at the corners with her smile. McCarty shifted in his seat when he glanced up in time to see her licking frosting from her fingers. The glint of a multitude of rings couldn't distract him from the sudden realization that she'd been eating some of _his _cake.

However, he couldn't be upset. Not when she caught him staring red-handed and simply shot him a dimpled smirk before ducking her head to speak to the little girl.

_Well, I'll be damned._

McCarty chuckled under his breath before finishing his slice with a disappointed sigh. A quick look at the counter reassured him; a box sat on the shelf at the back, his name in Sharpie big enough for him to read from his seat.

_Good. So Cherry Lips over there didn't get the last slice._

Distracted as he'd been by the thought of losing his cake, McCarty hadn't noticed a certain little snoop sneaking over to his table. He heard a sweet, rich voice saying "Go on, it's okay," before just about leaping out of his chair as a small hand double-tapped his forearm.

The little girl shuffled closer, enormous eyes staring up at him from beneath long lashes as she lisped, "Ex-excuse me, please, do you have to put your tattoos on _every day_ or does your mommy help you?"

_I am dying. Seriously. Is this kid for real?_

McCarty's futile attempts to hide his amusement made the girl's cheeks flush crimson. "I don't have to put them on every day," he told her, trying not to laugh. "I, uh, _drew _most of them on a long time ago and they've never washed off. Do you wanna hear a secret?"

Her eyes widened and lit up. "Ooh, I l-love secrets! I'm real good at keepin' 'em." To prove her point, she zipped her lips with yellow-painted fingertips and mimed tossing the key over her shoulder along with her blonde pigtail.

Leaning in a little closer, McCarty peeped over her shoulder to see her momma. She was leaning back in her chair, relaxed as they come, with a wide smile on her face.

"My momma was madder than a cat on a hot tin roof when she saw all my tattoos for the first time."

_Possibly all the other times, too, but he couldn't be sure._

A burst of high, lilting laughter bubbled from the girl. Her tiny hands came up to cover her gap-toothed smile but not before McCarty saw she had the same double-dimpled grin as her momma.

"Really? She was mad?"

"_So _mad." So mad it made him smirk just thinking about it. He was just hours fresh from the sandbox and she couldn't decide if she was happier to see him than she was mad that he'd covered his entire left arm in ink.

She was was five-two in heels but scarier than all the drill sergeants McCarty had ever met rolled into one.

"Did you hafta go to timeout?" She asked seriously. "I go to timeout a whole lot."

"A sweet kid like you? I don't believe it."

Puffing up with pride, she gave him a look that said she was far more mischievous than her angelic appearance indicated. "Mommy says I'm all piss and vinegar but it's okay 'cause I'm cute as a button."

McCarty's bark of laughter made her jump and attracted more than one set of eyes. The girl's momma cocked her head before grabbing her purse and scooting between tables to join them.

"Rosie-Rae, what on Earth are you saying now?"

"Nothin' other than the truth, I'll bet," McCarty said before the girl...Rosie-Rae...could get herself into any bother. Standing and brushing cake crumbs from his jeans as he put his tablet down on the table, McCarty offered his hand. "McCarty. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

_There, what do you know. I _do _have manners, after all. Momma would be proud._

Quirking an eyebrow, Rosie-Rae's momma shot her daughter a wink before slipping her small hand into McCarty's. It was dwarfed by his much larger palm. Her skin was soft and warm, the metal of her rings clinking against the thick titanium band on his middle finger. "Bella, this little one's keeper."

"Keeper? I'm not an _animal_, Momma. I don't need a zookeeper!" Rosie-Rae squealed.

Tugging one of her daughter's pigtails, Bella gently pulled Rosie-Rae into her side. The little girl leaned into her momma and beamed up at her; the sight made McCarty smile.

"Sorry for letting her come bug you. I couldn't resist seeing your face when she told me what she wanted to ask."

"It's no problem." Turning his attention to Rosie-Rae, McCarty grinned wider. "Besides, you weren't buggin' me."

"See, told ya," Rosie-Rae chimed up at Bella with a self-satisfied, tongue-out, cross-eyed grin. "What's your name again? Mac…"

Bella said "Mr. McCarty" just as McCarty told the girl, "Mac will do just fine." It was what all his nieces and nephews called him.

"Mac said he doesn't hafta put 'em on every day, he just drawed 'em on once and they don't ever wash off! Isn't that cool?"

"Oh, yeah, really cool," Bella agreed with a laugh.

"And his mommy was super mad. What's'it you said? Madder than…"

McCarty smirked. "Madder than a cat on a hot tin roof. I almost got grounded."

Rosie-Rae's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. "Ooh, that's real bad. My big brother gets grounded sometimes when he's bad. He's sixteen. Most of the times it's 'cause he climbs out his window and sneaks some of Momma's good whiskey—"

"All right, Miss Ma'am. Enough outta you," Bella gushed, clapping a hand over her daughter's mouth.

McCarty's smirk widened and bordered on painful as Bella's cheeks were infused with red almost as dark as the cherry paint on her plump lips. She didn't look old enough to have a sixteen-year-old, but what did he know? Some people had kids young nowadays.

"I used to get grounded a lot when I was your brother's age," McCarty admitted. "I like to think I'm better behaved now."

"Mommy says I'm s'posed to be good or I can't have no suckers at the weekend." The hang-dog look on Rosie-Rae's face told McCarty it was fairly likely she'd already squandered her chances and she knew it. Bella's burgeoning smile confirmed his suspicions.

"Well, that's a pretty good trade, I reckon. But you gotta earn your treats, huh?"

"I guess…"

A small arm looped through McCarty's, a waft of sweet-smelling cake drifting up to his nose. "We sold some, but I didn't think you'd mind sharing," Maggie told him with a twinkly-eyed smile, handing over the big to-go box.

"Ooh, s'that the cake Mommy had? It's so yummy!" Rosie-Rae squeaked, bouncing on her toes. "Can _I _have some to take home?"

Bella's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Rosie-Rae Collins! Don't be so rude!" McCarty frowned as the color drained from Bella's face and she shook her head, hitching her purse up higher on her shoulder before grabbing her daughter's hand. "Come on, we've got to go. Sorry for bothering you E—McCarty."

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to...leave." McCarty's words fell on deaf ears. Bella and Rosie-Rae were already fleeing through the door. He winced as the bell above the door chimed. "Something I said?"

Maggie scrunched up her face and shook her head side to side. "They'll be back."

Tilting his head to peer down at her, McCarty asked, "You think?"

"I've got a good feelin' about those two." She patted his chest and scuttled off to the kitchen, but not without a parting shot over her shoulder that left McCarty wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Did you see the way she was eatin' you up with her eyes? She'll be back, mark my words."

* * *

Sweat slid down McCarty's broad back as he slung his legs over the bed and scrubbed his face hard.

"_Fuckin' nightmares_," he grumbled.

They'd plagued him for...well, as long as he could remember. One or two a week for the last four years. Every one was the same.

As he shoved himself upright and reached for the bedside light switch, McCarty felt a shudder ripple down his spine all the way to his foot. Gazing at his lap, he sighed and grabbed the silicone lining from the end table, sliding it over the end of his thigh. The prosthetic leaning against the bed came next. It still took a few moments to get used to the odd feeling of standing with it on, but as McCarty stalked toward the bathroom, his nightmare played on a loop behind his bloodshot eyes.

_"I've got your six, man."_

_McCarty raised a silent closed fist into the air above his shoulder to acknowledge his comrade's whisper through the radio, then pressed on, motioning ahead. The soft crunch of boots at his back comforted him even as he felt a trickle of unease slipping down his spine._

_This doesn't feel right._

_An oppressive breeze slithered through the alleys as they moved as a unit, checking streets until they made it to their check-in point. McCarty could see the relief on the other men's faces. He wouldn't relax until they were back in the barracks listening to Crowley's snores._

_"Fuck, I can't wait to get back to the wife."_

_Riley slapped Embry on the back. "You weren't this whipped before you got hitched, dude."_

_The goofy grin on Embry's face made even McCarty smile despite his lingering unease. Embry and his wife had finally gotten married during his leave. By the time he got home to her, the baby she was carrying now would have been born and their older son would be starting middle school without his dad there to wave him off. It sucked, but they were into their last couple of months now_—

_A thundering crack sent the group into a frenzy. The two soldiers who'd been sitting on the dirt leapt to their feet while McCarty barked orders, his gaze sweeping around for the threat._

_There._

_A glint of steel catching the moonlight revealed the shooter's location. He was on top of a small apartment block a street over. "Riley, shooter at ten o'clock."_

"_On it," Riley hissed, quickly and methodically setting up his sniper on the hood of a nearby car. Swinging around to order his team to cover, McCarty stopped in his tracks for an endless second._

_Crimson seeped soundlessly from a single bullet wound. Embry's body leaned at an odd angle where he'd slumped against the side of the building. His eyes were closed._

_He was gone._

"Shit…" Turning as fast as he could without toppling over, McCarty stumbled to the toilet and dry heaved until his stomach ached and his eyes stung with tears he refused to shed. "It's just my fucked up imagination. It's not fuckin' real."

According to the field reports, the enemy bullet had killed Embry instantly.

The one that followed left a whole in McCarty's skull. The one after _that _shattered the bones in his right tibia.

By the time he woke up in the hospital in Kabul two weeks later, half of his right leg was gone as well as his best friend, Embry, and any memories McCarty had made in the past decade or so.

After almost a year in the hospital and more than eighteen months of visiting a psychotherapist specializing in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, McCarty gave up on regaining the memories he'd lost. He packed his bags, said 'goodbye' to his parents in New York, and drove for more than two days before winding up outside Magee's where he met Garrett and Maggie. His mom and dad were gutted, but they supported his need for independence.

He'd lost so much to the war—his best friend, his leg, and his memories. They wouldn't deny him his freedom.

McCarty had to find out what happened to him from the only other guy who survived that night. He and Riley had been close before, but six months in hospital together made them brothers. When McCarty landed in Texas and opened his tattoo shop, Riley packed up his life in Tennessee and joined him. Together, they ran a successful business. They rarely talked about their last mission. They had on occasion, though, in the minutes when they shared a drink after a long day before walking home to their respective houses on the same street as the shop. Not so much recently, because Riley had a wife to get home to. He didn't linger around the shop after closing.

Flushing the toilet, McCarty moved back to stand in front of the sink. The reflection of his pale face and red eyes made him cringe. His brows furrowed. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something had prompted this sudden spate of nightmares _every damn night_, he just didn't know what.

Hanging his head with an exasperated, exhausted huff, he found himself distracted by the ink staining his forearms and the little girl who'd stuck in his mind for a week now. Rosie-Rae. Just remembering her sweet lisp as she asked if his mommy had to help him with his tattoos took away some of the residual anxiety racing through his veins. He'd hoped to catch a glimpse of them around town. So far, nothing. They'd vanished into thin air. McCarty was starting to wonder if they were just passing through; he didn't want to accept that it was the most likely possibility.

After washing his face in the sink, he trudged back into his bedroom and decided it was useless trying to get back to sleep. The nightmares were familiar now. The ensuing routine, too. He'd toss and turn in bed for hours until the sun rose and he had to get ready for work. McCarty opted to skip the fruitless attempts to get more sleep and set about preparing himself for the day instead, but he'd be lying if he said Rosie-Rae and Bella weren't on his mind.

* * *

"Mornin'," Riley grunted as McCarty swung himself around on his rolling stool.

"Mornin', Ry."

Riley crossed the shop, making a beeline for the coffee maker behind the counter. "You want…?"

"No, thanks."

McCarty continued his inventory while Riley made his coffee. He was no kind of company until he had some caffeine in his system. By the time McCarty was putting the rolling cabinet back against the wall, Riley had just finished his first black coffee of the day.

"So, busy day today," he murmured, looking at the open appointment book on the counter.

McCarty nodded with a quiet grunt. "For _me_. Your one p.m. left a message cancelling and you rearranged the guy for this morning."

Riley grinned. "Sweet. Just walk-ins for me, then."

It didn't take long to get the shop in order and all set up for McCarty's first client of the day. Once he arrived, McCarty threw himself into the dedication piece on his shoulder and gave himself no time to wonder about Bella and Rosie-Rae or to think about his recurrent nightmares.

Three hours later, McCarty took a photo of the finished tatt and shook the guy's hand before watching him walk out of the door. Another happy customer. McCarty always got a rush from completing tattoos and knowing his clients were leaving McCarty Ink satisfied.

"I'm gonna go grab some lunch. You want anythin'?"

Shooting Riley a grin over his shoulder, McCarty asked, "Bored?"

Riley twisted side-to-side in his chair and grimaced. "A little." Out in the desert, Riley had been capable of sitting still and silent for hours upon hours. Since coming back, he struggled with being idle. The stress ball on the counter had taken the brunt of his frustration this morning, but Riley's attention span only ran so long before he needed to do something else.

As he refreshed his kit and stretched out his legs, McCarty pursed his lips. "You can head out, if you want. I can handle any walk-ins."

"You sure? Honestly, I could do with gettin' home to Bree."

Bree was Riley's wife of almost a year—and also eight months pregnant. They met Riley's first week in Texas when he'd pulled over to help her kickstart her broken-down car and been head-over-heels for each other ever since. A few too many whiskeys, a broken condom, and a shotgun wedding later, they were almost obscenely happy together. The hot Texas summer was "kickin' her ass," in her own words. McCarty chuckled at the memory of her whining she felt like a beached whale this past weekend.

"Go on, get home to your woman," he finally insisted. "You can owe me."

"Done," Riley agreed with a grin. "Thanks, man."

"Get outta here."

No sooner had Riley grabbed his cell and keys and headed out, did the bell above the door chime again. "Fuck's sake, Ry. What did you forget?"

"Uh…"

_Shit. That definitely ain't Riley._

Swinging around to face the client he'd likely just scared off, McCarty felt his stomach lurch and his heart take off at a sprint.

"Bella."

She looked like something out of a dream. Her hair was piled on top of her head in some kind of messy knot and her lips were stained the same cherry hue as the last time he saw her. Cut-off denim shorts showed off her legs and she'd knotted a t-shirt above her belly button, so he got a good look at her midriff, too. A jolt of surprise shot through him.

"You have your navel pierced."

Bella let out a burst of light, surprised laughter, her hand coming to rest just below the simple silver bar topped with a ruby red stone. "You're observant. Good to know."

McCarty felt his ears heating; he had no doubt they were bright red. "What can I do for you?"

Humming quietly, she stepped in further, walking over to the wall where a host of McCarty's and Riley's designs were showcased. Some were just the first drafts, others were pictures of actual, finished tatts. "This is your shop?"

Amused by her avoidance of the question, McCarty decided to humor her. "Sure is."

"It's nice."

Looking around, he couldn't help but agree. He'd taken a run-down shithole and turned it into a thriving business. The walls were white and mostly covered in artwork—his, Riley's, and some from a local artist. He and Riley spent a whole weekend laying the shiny black floor tiles and replacing all the woodwork in the place, then made counters out of the same wood to match. Everything was clean and tidy. Professional, just as it should be. McCarty was proud of it.

"I think so," he murmured, watching as Bella perused the wall of designs. She finally spun and walked closer to him.

"I want a back piece. I have some ideas, but I can't draw to save my life." There was something there, in her gaze, which unnerved McCarty. Something like...understanding, maybe? Of what, he had no idea. The purpose in her voice distracted him.

"A back piece…"

"Yep. Like I said, I have some ideas, I just can't put them on paper."

"All right."

McCarty gestured for her to take a seat on the couch beside him. The decrease in space between them meant he could smell her perfume. Rich but sweet, he felt himself inhaling a little deeper with each breath.

"So, back piece. What's your inspiration? You said you have ideas…"

"I do." After fishing her cell from her pocket, she quickly pulled up a collage of images and turned it to face him. McCarty's breath caught. "It doesn't need to be exactly like this, but I'd like a dreamcatcher. Something feminine, but still bold and colorful. Is that...does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," McCarty murmured.

How ironic that she'd come in and want a dreamcatcher, the exact thing he'd be desperate for if he believed in their supposed power.

Clearing his throat, McCarty asked, "Any particular significance?"

He wasn't really sure what he meant, but something about her shift in expression and demeanor made him pause. Her dark eyes seemed to stare right through him. She licked her lips; McCarty's eyes were drawn to the shiny red lipstick and the movement of her tongue. He'd always been a sucker for red lipstick. Something about it on _this _woman drove him slightly mad.

"Yes," she finally murmured. When she didn't follow it up with anything else, his gaze lifted again, finding her intense eyes trained on him still. They implored him, but to do or say _what_, he couldn't guess.

"I see. So, you want it on your back?"

"I think shoulder blades to sort of the middle of my spine, maybe? I guess it depends on the design."

"All right."

Heaving himself off his stool, McCarty took in a long, deep breath to clear his foggy mind. He caught a lungful of her sweet, fragrant perfume and savored it all the way to the counter, where he dug out a specific sketchbook. When he turned to call her over, McCarty grinned. She'd watched him go, her eyes decidedly south of his face. Her cheeks flamed as she realized she'd been caught.

"This book has some good examples you can look through. If you see anythin' you like or elements that jump out at you, let me know. I'll make a note so I can see if anythin' can be incorporated into the design for you."

Bella blessed him with a soft but wide smile, complete with dimples, as she swung herself up onto one of the tall stools at the counter. "Thank you."

McCarty briefly contemplated giving her some space and making himself useful around the shop, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He'd waited a week to see her again. He was going to soak up as much of her as she would give him while he had the chance.

"So, where's the little cake monster today?"

Snorting, Bella kept perusing the designs as she murmured, "Her brother is on babysitting duty. It's his punishment for sneaking out at the weekend."

"Ah. The hooligan brother, I assume?"

"Hooligan is right." Bella blew out a long breath and looked up at McCarty. She seemed to contemplate something before finally admitting, "He's..._struggled_...since his dad died. We all have, but it hit him really hard. They were each other's shadow between tours.."

_Shit. _That hit close to home. McCarty himself had been an army brat. He knew how tough it could be—and that was without losing a parent_._

"I'm sorry, Bella." There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice, but McCarty found himself on the receiving end of a slight frown. "I didn't realize...it must be tough losin' your husband and having to look after your kids, too."

Bella's expression softened. She turned her attention back to the sketchbook. "It's not the life I planned, but we get by okay. And Bo...he'll be all right. Teenage boys are hard without losing a parent, so I hear."

"You got that right," McCarty chuckled ruefully. "Sixteen-year-old me probably would have given your boy a run for his money if sneakin' out is the worst of his issues."

With a bark of sarcastic laughter, Bella shook her head and peered up at him from beneath her long eyelashes. "I'm thirty-three and I have to get my hair dyed every six weeks or I swear I'll be as white-haired as my grandma was when she died at ninety-two."

She sighed long and low and flashed him a smile full of exasperation coupled with fondness for her boy. "I've been in and out of his school more times than he has, and don't even get me started on the amount of times I've had to sit up watching so he doesn't choke on his own puke after sneaking out to drink with his asshole buddies."

"Damn."

"I'm no model citizen. Teen mom, right here. But he's still my baby and I love the kid to death. Literally, sometimes I could smother him, I love him so much." Before McCarty could comment further—not that he knew what to say—Bella gasped and pointed to a drawing on the page in front of her. He gently took the book, twisting it so he could see better.

_Fuck's sake._

"You like this one?"

"It's beautiful…" she breathed, tracing the feathers hanging from the bottom of the circular dream catcher. "Did you draw this?"

"I did," he admitted softly. He _didn't _admit that he also had it inked on his ribcage below his heart.

"It's amazing." Gazing at him with open admiration, Bella smiled. "You're so talented!"

McCarty had never dealt well with praise. He didn't start now. Grumbling a "thanks," he pulled his tablet closer and created a new page to start Bella's design. "Are there any adjustments you want? Details, your kids' initials…"

For a long moment, Bella appeared lost in thought. Her brows pulled down and she tugged her cherry red lower lip between her teeth. "Three names, if possible."

"Of course." Sliding a piece of paper over to her, he asked for the names. "In block capitals, please. It's easier to read so I don't make any mistakes. You can have them lower or upper case, it's just simpler for this."

"That's fine," she mumbled, writing the first two names with no hesitation. McCarty grinned as 'Rosie-Rae' appeared on the page first, followed by 'Bo.' Bella paused and glanced up at his expectant face before closing her eyes for a beat, then adding the third name to the paper. McCarty couldn't pull his gaze from her face. She was so expressive, so open to his perusal. But she was unsure. Hesitant.

Hiding something, maybe?

Whatever it was, McCarty didn't care.

Her deep chocolate eyes lifted to meet his. They caught each other in a web that, for an endless moment, couldn't be broken.

Then the sudden, shrill blaring of Bella's ringtone shattered the spell. She mumbled a curse followed by an apology as she fished it from the back pocket of her cut-offs, then shook her head as she glanced at the screen. "What now?"

McCarty stepped away to give her the illusion of privacy, but he couldn't help but listen in to her side of the conversation.

"What do you mean, she's fallen down the toilet? Get her out."

There was no stifling his laugh at that. Bella shot him a withering look, but tempered it with a long-suffering half-smile as she mimed shooting herself in the temple and listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I'm sure you've had your hands much worse places, Bo. Just get the bloody hamster out of the damn toilet before your sister blows all the lightbulbs screaming the house down. I'll be home in ten, aight?"

When she spoke quickly and agitatedly, McCarty could almost detect a hint of an accent in her voice. Brookly, maybe? He hadn't noticed it before, it was so soft. She was a fellow New Yorker.

"Quit whining and get on with it, please. Jesus."

Hanging up, Bella shoved her cell back in her pocket and slid off the stool in a graceful little hop. "I'm sorry, I've got to go. Bo's trying to drown Rosie-Rae's hamster and she's screaming the house down."

"No worries." Striding back over to her, McCarty leaned around her to take a McCarty Ink card from the holder on the counter. Her hair came tantalizingly close to his face, the fresh, floral scent overwhelming his senses. "Give me a call and we'll book you in. I'll get some designs drawn up over the weekend, so any time from Monday."

"Perfect." Bella hovered for a second before shaking off whatever she was thinking and flashing him a grateful smile. "Speak to you soon, McCarty."

"Bye, Bella."

McCarty watched her go, and it was only once she'd pulled away in her beat-up Beetle that he turned to look at the paper she'd scrawled the names on.

_Rosie-Rae._

_Bo._

McCarty's heart lurched, his leg suddenly weak. Leaning on the counter for support, he reached out to bring the paper closer to his face. However closely he looked, the name at the bottom remained the same.

_Embry._

* * *

When Monday rolled around, McCarty was a bundle of anxious energy. He'd barely slept over the weekend thanks to never-ending nightmares. In every one, Embry died.

In some, Bella was there, too. She clutched the piece of paper with Rosie-Rae's, Bo's, and Embry's names scrawled on it and only vanished with the first crack of gunfire.

"Fuckin' hell, man. What crawled up your ass and died?" Riley bitched when McCarty grumbled a curse and tossed his tablet at the opposite end of the couch.

"Fuck off," McCarty growled, stalking out to the small bathroom as quickly as his bum leg would let him. The door slammed closed with a satisfying _thump_, shutting out Riley and his nosy questions and curious glances. Staring at himself in the mirror, at the heavy bags under his eyes and the red tint to the white of his eyes, he wondered if he should even be contemplating working. He was bone-weary and shattered to his marrow. Lack of sleep had never bothered him, but the _nightmares_.

They took it out of him in a way sleepless nights never could.

_It has to be a coincidence._

There was no way the Embry he remembered could be the same guy Bella was honoring with her tattoo. It wasn't a _common_ name, but it wasn't unique, either. There were probably lots of guys with that name. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. Plus, there was the fact that Embry's wife was a month or two shy of giving birth to their _son_ when he died. Bella had a daughter. It _was _a coincidence that his Embry had also had a kid who would be around the same age as Bella's Bo, but it was exactly that—a coincidence.

Frustration boiled McCarty's blood as he tried, in vain, to call Embry's wife's face to his mind. He knew he'd met her. She and Embry had a kid together as teens and split up only to reunite shortly before Embry shipped out the first time. Once, they'd double-dated with McCarty and his then-girlfriend. Back before that catastrophic third deployment they'd talked about vacationing together, but McCarty couldn't remember if it had ever happened. His memory cut off shortly before the end of his first deployment, and he had brief flashes of memories for the next couple of years, but nothing concrete.

He remembered meeting Embry on the first day.

He remembered Riley getting his ass handed to him by one of their commanding officers for being tardy.

He remembered their shared, youthful excitement and enthusiasm to serve their country.

He remembered that first tour out in the desert as they all had to struggle to adjust, because no amount of training prepared a person for war.

He remembered it all—but that was where it ended.

No doctor had been able to explain why he'd lost his memories up to that point, and some going back to his childhood. Nobody could explain when, or if, he'd ever get back the time he'd lost. There were times he was grateful he couldn't remember those years. There were also times when he hated his traitorous mind for wiping them from his memory.

Times like now.

"_McCarty, man, there's a chick on the phone for you. Somethin' about a back piece?" _Riley yelled through the door.

McCarty heaved a sigh and hung his head, staring at the spot where his prosthetic met his leg under his pants. The war cost him so much. His leg, over a decade of memories, his friends...his girlfriend. She hadn't wanted him to go in the first place. When he returned, a broken shell of a man, Irina couldn't deal with it. She packed her bags and left him a note ending their six-year relationship. McCarty had heard on the grapevine that she was married with a couple of kids now. Good for her.

He'd often wondered if that would ever be him—settling down, having a family…

He'd briefly entertained the idea that Bella could be the start of that for him. He hadn't been attracted to anyone in a long time. Not since he woke up in the hospital four and a half years ago. She'd changed that, but now…

"_Dude! Are you takin' a shit, or what?"_

"For fuck's sake, Ry!" McCarty ripped the door open, snatching the phone from his hand like he'd been snatched from his thoughts. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

Riley offered him a shit-eating grin and backed away with his hands raised in the universal sign of surrender.

McCarty shook his head and sucked in a breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it and raising the phone to his ear. "McCarty Ink. McCarty speaking."

"_Hey, it's Bella." _He could hear the smile in her voice; she'd obviously heard his exchange with Riley. Ordinarily, he'd have smiled, too. Not today. "_You said to call...so I'm calling."_

"Right." Clearing his throat, McCarty crossed the shop and dropped his ass on the stool behind the counter. "I've got some designs drawn up for you. I can email them over—"

"_I'll come in and see them in person, if that's okay? I work at the restaurant down the street, so I can stop by during my break today."_

"Sure, that works."

"_Perfect. I'll see you in a bit, then."_

McCarty grunted an affirmative, waiting for the _click _of the call ending before setting the phone down a little too hard.

Riley raised his eyebrows at him.

"If you ask what crawled up my ass and died _one more damn time_…"

"What's up with you today, man? You've been weird since I got here."

"Nothin's wrong. Quit motherin' me. If I wanted that shit, I'd go back to New York to my actual mother."

"Ouch." Despite the hand that came up to his chest, McCarty knew Riley was talking shit. His grin told him so. "Look, you don't have to talk to me about it, but have a word with yourself, all right? Sounds like you've got a lead there. Don't scare her off."

The double meaning was loud and clear. McCarty ignored it.

"Whatever."

Riley barked a laugh and shook off McCarty's shitty attitude, leaving him to stew. Years of experience told McCarty the reprieve would only last so long, so he got comfy with his sketchbooks and did his best not to compulsively check the clock.

* * *

"Ding, dong!"

McCarty's foul mood evaporated the moment the door flew open just after one, a sing-songy voice preceding Rosie-Rae's beaming grin stretching over the edge of the counter.

"Hi, Mac!"

She could only just see him, she was that short. She'd opted for braids today, her long blonde hair twisted in intricate, slightly messy plaits down her back. When McCarty rounded the counter to crouch in front of her, he couldn't resist giving one a gentle tug.

"Hi, Miss Rosie-Rae. I didn't know you were coming to visit me today."

Glancing up at Bella with more than an ounce of trepidation, McCarty found her smiling somewhat sheepishly over her daughter's head. "I hope this is okay? Her sitter bailed, so I had to take her to work with me."

"It's fine," he murmured, turning his attention back to Rosie-Rae, who'd gotten distracted tracing the letters inked into his forearm.

"What's this one say?"

Around the lump that had appeared in his throat the moment he looked up at Bella, McCarty murmured, "Honor." Pointing to the one that mirrored it on his other forearm, he read, "Courage." Then he tugged the neck of his tee down slightly to reveal the 'Sacrifice' written across the top of his chest. "And this one says 'Sacrifice.'"

"Oh...they're pretty."

Huffing a laugh through his nose, McCarty found himself smiling for the first time all day. "I don't think anybody's ever called them 'pretty' before. But thanks."

"You're welcome," she chimed cheerfully, turning her curious eyes to Riley, who was busy working on a new design over at his drawing table in the corner. "Who's that?" she whispered.

"That's Riley. He works for me."

"_With _you," Riley said without missing a beat or turning to face them. "I work _with you_, not for you."

Rosie-Rae grinned, flashing her dimples. "Do you draw inkies like Mac?"

Riley did turn, then. "I sure do. I happen to draw better, uh, _inkies_, too. D'you wanna see?"

Of course she did, so the bouncy little girl hurried over to Riley and introduced herself with a curtsey. Just like she had with McCarty almost two weeks ago, she had him eating out of the palm of her hand within a minute.

Which left McCarty with Bella and no pint-sized distractions.

"I'm sorry, I can come back another time when she's not—"

"It's fine, Bella, don't worry. C'mon, let me show you the designs."

Frowning, she silently followed him over to the leather couches set aside for people waiting. He swiped his sketchbook from the counter on the way, setting it on the table in front of her once they were sitting down.

"If there's anythin' you don't like or you think needs changin', tell me. It's easy to do now. Not so much once you've committed and it's inked on your skin."

"All right."

As McCarty flipped to the right page in the book, he saw Bella jiggling a little in her seat beside him. He'd opted for the sofa, which had more room for him to stretch his awkward leg out. She'd chosen to sit beside him, her perfume an invisible but heady cloud around them. "Here we go."

A bolt of nerves raced through his veins as he handed over the book. He was confident in his art, but that was no guarantee she'd like it as a tattoo. Especially one that was obviously incredibly personal.

"Oh…"

McCarty winced. "So?"

"It's beautiful! So lovely. Gosh, McCarty...this is _amazing_."

Pride rushed through him. Relief, too. "I'm glad you like it."

"I _love _it," she corrected gently, tracing the feathers hanging from the bottom with her fingertips. Then she touched the three small circles at the bottom where the names were written in elegant scrawl.

Rubbing the back of his neck, McCarty hesitated before thinking _fuck it_ and blurting out the question on the tip of his tongue.

"Embry...that's your husband?"

Bella's eyes leapt off the page to meet his; wide, dark, and bewildered, they shocked him into silence. "Yes," she breathed before falling silent, as if she were waiting for something. The expectant nature of her stare made McCarty fidget.

"Right. Well, uh, is there anythin' you want to change?"

Bella blinked.

"With the tattoo…"

"Oh! Oh, right. The tattoo. Um, no. Everything is perfect. No changes necessary. I love it."

"All right. Well, let's get you booked in if you want to go ahead?"

On the tablet, McCarty pulled up the scheduling app. Bella told him afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays were best, because Bo would be around to watch Rosie-Rae, so he scheduled her in for two, two hour sessions. "It shouldn't need more than that, really, but it depends on details, coloring, and your tolerance of the needles."

Just as silence descended and it started to feel uncomfortable, Rosie-Rae barrelled over clutching a sheet of paper. "Look, Mommy! Riley drawed me a picture!"

"_Drew _you a picture," Bella corrected gently with a laugh, dutifully looking at the picture. "Aw, it's you!"

McCarty leaned over a little, trying to ignore how close it brought him to Bella, and grinned. Riley had drawn a cartoon Rosie-Rae complete with big ol' eyes and her gap-toothed, double-dimpled grin.

"Can we put it on the fridge at home?"

"Sure, baby." Glancing at her watch, Bella sighed and shot McCarty an apologetic smile, admitting she'd be late back to work if they didn't get going.

"That's all right. I'll see you next week."

"Next week," she murmured, telling Rosie-Rae to say 'bye' as they headed for the door.

"Bye, Riley. Bye, Mac!"

McCarty waved, unable to stifle his grin as the little girl did a little hop and a heel click before getting in the car. Ah, the boundless energy of childhood. Riley sidled up beside his buddy and blew out a breath.

"That ass, man. You gonna hit that?"

Out in the desert, McCarty hadn't ever had a problem with the crass way many of his comrades spoke about women. He hadn't joined in, but he'd also never reprimanded them for it.

That was probably why Riley's breathless laugh was accompanied by an amused, knowing smirk when McCarty's balled fist socked him in the side.

"Don't fuckin' talk about her like that. She's not one of your random hookups."

Riley's eyes shone—partly from the hit, but mostly with amusement. "So is she one of _your_ hookups?"

Grunting a curse, because now Riley smelled blood, McCarty hauled himself up. "She's different, all right? Leave it."


	2. Bella

**Here we go, gang. This is the second and last part of this little tale. I'm contemplating writing a future-take for these guys, but we'll see. I'm not promising anything just yet.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Summary: **Thousands of miles from home, Staff Sergeant McCarty lost more than the war had any right to take from him—his best friend, his independence, and his memories. He is hiding from a life he does not remember. She is running from a life she wishes she could forget. She can only hope he'll be happy when he finally remembers, because this time, she's not giving in

**Disclaimer - **Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Not Giving In**

**BELLA**

Bella's chest tightened, a smile curling her lips as she drove past McCarty Ink on her way home. She'd hoped to catch sight of McCarty, but the sun shining on the windows made it impossible.

Being attracted to McCarty was as unexpected as it was welcome—even if it was a little uncomfortable, like a new pair of jeans she hadn't worn in yet. It had been a long time since she'd felt the flutter of butterflies when she looked at a man. It had been even longer since she'd wanted to peel the clothes off of said man, but she'd definitely wanted to see what McCarty's clothes were hiding.

Every time he looked at her with those intense blue eyes, she couldn't help but fidget.

_How did I not notice those before?_

She'd spent all afternoon messing up orders and miscalculating change on the register because all she could focus on was the look on McCarty's face when she'd thought he actually _remembered_.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, baby?" Bella shook off her musings, glancing at her daughter in the rear-view.

"Can I come with you to see you get your inky?"

"No, baby. Tattoo shops aren't for kids. I just brought you today to cheer up E—_McCarty_."

Rosie-Rae pursed her lips. "S'he sad?"

Bella chewed her lip for a moment, debating… "I think so. But seeing you definitely helped."

At that, the little girl preened. "I _am _awesome. And I make _you_ super happy, don't I?"

"You sure do, my little ray of sunshine."

Naming Rosie-Rae had been a no-brainer in the end, even though Bella had spent her whole pregnancy thinking of boy names and hating every girl name she saw or heard. She was born just five weeks after her daddy was killed in combat. He never got to see her scrunched-up, gunked-up, red-as-a-tomato face when the doctor lifted her above the drape and surprised the whole room with the bewildered announcement, "It's a...girl?"

From there, her name was born. 'Rosie' after her red face, and 'Rae' because she'd been a ray of sunshine as Bella navigated the rocky road ahead alone.

_Well, not _alone_._

As if she'd known Bella was thinking of her, Bella's cell lit up with an incoming call. She smiled as she pulled up outside their little house and quickly grabbed her phone before it could ring off. "Hello, Esme."

_"Hi, Bella, sweetie." _There was a pause; Bella bit her cheek to stifle her laugh. _"I'm not even going to pretend to play it cool. How did it go?"_

Blowing out a laugh through her nose, Bella admitted, "Better than I expected."

A pang of guilt-infused disappointment spread through her as Esme asked, _"Did he…?"_

"No, Esme. I'm sorry."

_"It's okay, it's okay! We knew...we knew it might not be that simple."_

"We did," Bella breathed, resting her head back against the headrest. The blue sky above reminded her of the sea behind her parents' house when she was a kid. She'd loved that house. When her mom and dad died in a car crash shortly after her eleventh birthday, she'd lost everything. Her parents, her home, that beach…

Her godparents, Sue and Harry, lived on a Quileute reservation in Washington State. There _was _a beach there, but it was stony and often rainy and cold. It was a far cry from the glorious sandy beaches of her childhood home in California. Then they'd moved to Brooklyn.

But in Washington, she met Embry.

_"Are you still there?"_

"I am, sorry. I booked in for a tattoo."

Esme found _that _hilarious. Rosie-Rae giggled, able to hear it from the backseat. "Can I speak to Nana Esme?"

"In a second, baby. Come on, let's get inside."

Following Rosie-Rae indoors, Bella recounted every interaction she'd had with McCarty thus far. When Bella had first mentioned the brooding tattooist to Esme after arriving in this little town, Esme had insisted she tell her everything. So, she told her everything.

By the time she'd finished and Nana Esme had gotten a rundown of Rosie-Rae's day, Bella had her daughter at the kitchen counter eating a snack and Bo was carrying his guitar in from the garage.

_"Please keep me updated, sweetie. And give my love to Bo."_

"I will. Take care, Esme."

"What's for dinner?" Bo mumbled, already digging through the fridge.

"Whatever you're making, sunshine," Bella drawled with a lift of her eyebrows. "It's your day "

"Aw, crap." Changing tact, he plastered a hopeful look on his face and aimed his father's grin right at his mother. "Can we get takeout? I'll pay," he added quickly before she could remind him they weren't exactly loaded since moving out to this small Texas town. She'd left her well-paid job in New York to take on a waitressing gig, and Bo had picked up some weekend shifts cleaning and making coffees at a barber shop.

Secondhand furniture from local thrift stores, they had lots of. Money wasn't so plentiful right now.

"Whatever you want is fine with me, you just have to be in charge of dinner. That's the rule."

"Ooh, can we have sushi? I _loooove _sushi!" Rosie-Rae sang.

Bella left Bo to remind his sister that their new town wasn't exactly a hotbed of varied cuisines, heading upstairs to her bedroom instead. Her feet carried her straight to her closet and to the shoebox-sized wooden box tucked away underneath the coats she definitely didn't need here.

The lid lifted with a quiet squeak, Bella's breath gusting from her lungs.

Right on the top was a beaming picture of her husband taken just days before she saw him for the last time.

Twenty-eight. It was no age.

That was what people kept telling her—when the news spread between their neighbors, when the casserole dishes started arriving on the doorstep with sympathetic faces, and at the funeral as she held her devastated son's hand and cradled the bump holding her unborn daughter.

Being a widow at twenty-six had never been in her life plan. Nor had becoming a mother at seventeen, or having their second child alone five weeks after burying her husband.

The last four years had taught her that life had a very different plan for her life than she did. Raising Bo and Rosie-Rae singlehandedly had shown her that sometimes it was best to embrace whatever she was given rather than endlessly mourning the things she had lost. It was realizing this that caused the rift between her and Embry's parents. They couldn't understand how she was functioning—how she could get herself out of bed and return to work six months after Embry died.

The truth was, she didn't _want _to do any of those things.

She didn't want to wake up six or seven times a night to do all the night feeds and diaper explosions by herself.

She didn't want to sit through parent-teacher conferences with all the other moms whispering and pointing at her—'the one whose husband died in Afghanistan.'

She didn't want to be the one to haul Bo out of school by his collar the first time he told his teacher to fuck off for insinuating that soldiers were reckless...or the second, third, or fourth time.

She didn't want to wake up in a cold bed every day with Embry's pillow untouched beside hers, his empty watch box spinning on the dresser and his side of the closet still full of clothes he'd never wear.

She didn't want to spend three days hauling his things out of the closet, the garage, the study to send to thrift stores and donation centers. She didn't want to stick the 'For Sale' sign on his beloved Jeep and she didn't want to sell the house they'd bought just months after getting married at twenty-five.

Bella had often wondered, if she'd known when they signed the lease that less than a year later she'd be packing it up to sell it, whether she'd have gone through with the move from their tiny apartment in downtown Brooklyn to a house in the suburbs she couldn't possibly afford on one income.

The truth was, she had no idea. None at all.

Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Embry's parents, had reprimanded her constantly until she reminded them that she had every right to recover from her loss however she chose. They hadn't contacted her, or their only grandchildren, since. That was two years ago.

Her therapist—and Esme, her best friend Angela, and her kickboxing coach back in Manhattan—had all told her that was okay. It was perfectly reasonable to be unsure of things while she got her life back in order.

It took a tearful call from Esme for her to realize that she wasn't the only one floundering in the wake of Embry's death.

"_I'm just so worried about him," Esme breathed, tears thick in her voice._

"_Oh, Esme." Bella wiped her damp cheeks with the ends of her sleeves and cursed herself for not seeing it before. She'd been so wrapped up in herself and the new challenges of her job, Rosie-Rae hitting the terrible twos hard, and Bo's rebellion that she hadn't made enough time for Esme and her problems. "I'm so sorry_—"

_Esme clicked her tongue. "Don't be silly, sweetheart. He's just stubborn and pigheaded like his father."_

_Bella heard Carlisle protesting in the background, but Esme continued as though he hadn't said a word._

"_He's adamant that this is a good idea, but I'm just…" She heaved a sigh. "I'm not sure."_

_Rosie-Rae charged into the family room at full steam, her arms full of stuffed animals. She darted back out of the room with a quick smile for her mommy._

"_Maybe...maybe it'll be good for him?"_

"_Do you think so?"_

"_Honestly, I'm not sure, but perhaps a change of scenery will do him good."_

At the time, Esme hadn't agreed.

A couple of years and some months on, nobody could deny it had done her son a world of good.

Setting the picture of a bright-eyed, fresh-faced Embry on the carpet beside her crossed legs, Bella's lips curled up into a faint smile. The next picture was of a group of brothers. Not comrades, not friends—honest to God brothers in arms.

Tyler Crowley, Embry Collins, Jake Black, Riley Biers...and Emmett McCarty.

* * *

"Big girl panties, Bella. You can do this."

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror at home, Bella had been convinced she _could _do this.

Standing right outside McCarty Ink for the first of her two tattoo sessions, she wasn't so sure. Nerves slithered through her veins, then she was busted. Riley offered her a two-finger wave through the glass, motioning for her to come in. She sucked in a deep breath and managed a shaky smile as she stepped over the threshold.

Her eyes sought him out.

McCarty flashed her a grin from his spot behind the counter. The sparkle in his eyes was back, she noticed, dumbstruck by the intensity of his gaze and the brightness of his smile.

Her knees wobbled.

The first time she felt attraction to a man after Embry died, Bella had all-but collapsed with guilt and grief. She spent three days sequestered in her house with her children, then she remembered the promise Embry had asked her to make when they were married.

"_Promise me you won't stay alone, Bells. If some asshole gets me out there, I don't wanna leave you alone forever."_

She'd argued with him, of course, but Embry always won every argument. He was that kind of guy; charismatic, funny, handsome, and as soft as butter when it came to those he loved. Bella had finally promised that she'd be open to finding someone else should the impossible happen and she found herself alone.

She hadn't meant it at the time. She hadn't ever believed it would come to that.

Only, losing Embry _was_ possible, and she wasn't the only one struggling with that loss.

McCarty was running. _He is hiding from a life he does not remember_, Esme told her six months ago when she admitted that she felt like her son was slipping away from her. He was getting more withdrawn, his phone calls home more sporadic.

He was giving up.

In a spur of the moment decision Bella couldn't be sure she wouldn't regret, she'd packed up her house and moved herself, Bo, and Rosie-Rae halfway across the country. She couldn't let it happen—she _wouldn't _let him give up. Bella hadn't spent four years fighting her own demons just to watch McCarty slip away.

In the early days, when he woke up for mere moments at a time, she'd sat with him at the hospital praying for him to wake up. She'd pleaded with doctors to let her be the one to break the news about Embry's death, but in the end, the decision had been taken away from her. Rosie-Rae's arrival coincided to the hour with the first time McCarty was lucid enough to understand that Embry was gone. While he'd been coming to terms with his best friend's death and the loss of his leg from the thigh, down, Bella was listening to the tiny, raspy cries of her newborn from the other side of a surgical drape.

"Hey, Earth to Bella!" Riley sang, waving his paw in front of her face.

Coming back to the present with a silent gasp, Bella flushed crimson. "Sorry. I'm nervous, I think."

"That's normal," McCarty reassured her gently, rounding the counter. He was dressed differently today. The cargo pants he'd been wearing last time had been replaced by a pair of cargo shorts. Her lips curled up slightly.

"Bo would love that," she murmured, not sure how he'd react to her attention on his prosthetic.

McCarty glanced down, following her gaze to the Marvel characters painted on his leg, before chuckling a rich, deep laugh and meeting her eyes. "He's a Marvel kid? We might have more in common than I thought."

"Oh yeah, we're a Marvel house, through and through."

Riley groaned. "All right, I'm outta here. I'll leave you two freaks to it."

Bella and McCarty erupted into laughter. "DC?" She asked, pointing at Riley's back as he loped out to a 4x4 in the parking lot.

"For his sins." A spark of mischief flashed across his features. "Come on, then. Enough stallin'. I've got some forms for you to sign."

Once she'd filled out the required information, shown him her ID, and admitted that she had no allergies, Bella sucked in a deep breath and moved over to the table McCarty indicated. She'd briefly entertained the notion that her ID might prompt a memory. Nothing but polite interest had crossed his face as he'd checked it, though. Bella wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

The longer this ruse went on, the more upset he could be. She couldn't say she'd be pleased if the roles were reversed. Being upfront with him when she first spotted him in the café would have been the best option, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to go over there and ruin his day. Then Rosie-Rae had spotted him and Bella had thought she recognized him from photos. However, it was the tattoos she was interested in, not the brooding, traumatized, hot-as-Hades man Bella couldn't stop staring at.

How could she not have noticed how good looking he was before?

The answer was obvious, really. She'd loved Embry. Truthfully, she still did—and likely always would. He was her first love, her second love, and the father of her children.

But he was gone, and she wasn't. She'd made a promise to him and to herself. Bella had vowed not to live her life in Embry's shadow. Being attracted to McCarty wasn't necessarily ideal, nor was it what she'd expected, but nothing had to happen. She didn't plan to act on it. Looking never hurt anybody, and she now had two hours of lying still now with nothing to do _but_ look.

Clearing his throat, McCarty mumbled, "Now might be a good time to change."

"Oh, right. I brought the button-down, like you suggested.

"Good. That's, uh, that's good. The bathroom is back there."

Bella ducked into the bathroom to change out of her t-shirt into one of Bo's button-downs. She fastened the bottom five buttons before pulling it on backwards over her head, clutching the back of the shirt to stop it gaping too much. She'd opted to go without a bra, her barely-B cups not really necessitating one anyway. Choosing a back tattoo had seemed like a great idea at the time. It was only thinking about it after the fact that made her realize she'd need to be sans bra for him to be able to do it.

Back out in the main area, McCarty had pulled a curtain across the back half of the studio. "I've locked the door, so nobody can wander on in. I'm not expectin' anyone else, anyway."

"Okay," she told him with a shaky smile.

"All right. Hop on up and I'll get this stencil in place."

Electricity hummed between Bella's skin and McCarty's as he carefully set the stencil in place and pressed it down, telling her to check it out in the mirror over her shoulder before he got to work.

"It looks perfect," Bella breathed.

"Perfect," he murmured, motioning for her to lay down face-first. "Oh, and here." He passed her a hoodie and rubbed the back of his neck. "To rest your head on. The cushions are all being replaced but it's uncomfortable as hell lying on these things without something for your head. Trust me."

"Thanks."

The fabric smelled like his cologne; citrus and wood and something inherently _McCarty_. Bella carefully folded it, to stall time, before lying down and resting her cheek on the soft material. The silly little grin on McCarty's face told her he knew exactly what she was doing, too.

A couple of minutes passed in comfortable, almost-silence as McCarty pulled his rolling kit case closer and got himself set up at her side, lowering the bed so she was at the right level and snapping on a pair of black latex gloves. Again, nerves rolled through her veins. A shot of surprise joined the nerves when McCarty's large, warm hand landed on the small of her back. "You need to stop wigglin'."

"Sorry," Bella squeaked.

"It's okay. Just take a few deep breaths and remember you can tell me to stop whenever, all right?"

The sincerity and patience in his touch and his expression relaxed her. She'd only met him a handful of times before that third deployment, the one that changed everything, but he'd had the same calming demeanor all of those times, too. At this moment, she particularly appreciated it.

The hum of the tattoo gun starting up startled her. She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to watch McCarty's reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall. His brows pulled in as he concentrated, readying himself to get started. His focus was comforting.

"Here goes, Bella. Relax."

The first touch of the needle was nowhere near as bad as Bella expected. She'd expected agony. In reality, each drag of the needle accompanied a mildly annoying vibration and some stinging pain.

"Doin' okay?"

"Yeah," Bella breathed, the mile-wide grin on her face making him smile right back.

"Good."

They lapsed into silence as McCarty worked. Bella felt herself involuntarily tense a couple of times when he hit a few spots close to her spine. He apologized each time and reiterated that they could take a break. She told him to carry on, that she was okay, and he took her at her word.

It barely felt like any time had passed when he lightly tapped her side with his gloved fingertips and told her, "One hour down, one to go. You're doin' great."

"One hour? Really?"

McCarty's warm laugh rushed over her like a wave. "You're not dozin' off on me over there, are you?"

"People actually do that?"

"Some do." McCarty wiped away some stray ink and rocked back on his stool, stretching out his legs. Bella's eyes strayed to his prosthetic; he quickly snatched it back when he saw where she was looking.

"Don't do that," she pleaded softly before giving herself permission to even say it. "Don't hide from me."

He frowned, but slowly, he extended his legs back out. "You're not lookin' at me like everyone else does."

"How do they look at you?"

"With pity." McCarty's tone betrayed his disgust. Bella almost smiled; Embry had been exactly the same. He hated any kind of pity or sympathy.

"I don't pity you_._"

There was a long hesitation, then he breathed out a sigh and offered her the most genuine smile she'd seen him wear. "Thank you. I appreciate it, more than I can explain."

Bella couldn't resist. She reached for his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I get it."

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes piercing and probing, before nodding. "I guess you do. Military wives are some of the toughest out there."

Before she could respond, he lifted himself from his seat and promised to be right back. When he returned with a plastic cup of water complete with a metal straw, she couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you. I did wonder how I'd manage drinking without moving too much."

Once she'd had a few mouthfuls of water, McCarty got back to work. His soft humming and the gentle weight of his ink-wiping palm on her back was relaxing; she could almost understand how people fell asleep during tattoos, after all.

It didn't feel like any time at all had passed when he quietly cleared his throat and sat back, lifting his hands away from her. The cool air from the fan touched her skin where his warm hand had been resting. A shiver danced up her spine.

"I think you're all done for today."

"Right, okay." After lying still for him to cover the tattoo in medical wrap and a sterile pad, Bella gingerly climbed off the table. She shot him a bashful smile when she found him smirking. "I didn't know if it would hurt."

"It'll be sore for a few days, but take the wrap off in twenty-four hours or so and read the pamphlet we ran through earlier, and you should be good."

"Thank you so much, E—_McCarty_."

His brows drew further inward. "What were you about to call me? That's not the first time...you keep correcting yourself. What were you going to say?"

Bella bit her lip, wondering...but it was too late. She saw the moment realization dawned. He stepped back slightly.

_He's running already_.

There were a few options Bella could have gone with, but she opted for honesty. Mentally crossing her fingers, she blew out a breath and mustered every ounce of courage she had.

"Emmett. I was about to call you 'Emmett.'"

"How do you know my first name?" he demanded.

Back in the old days, before she lost Embry, Bella had spent a lot of time around military men. Most of them called each other by their surnames—McCarty included. She'd made it a rule that, in her home, everyone had a first name or a nickname. They were at home to relax, after all. McCarty—Emmett—had found it hilarious to try and sneak surnames past her when she didn't seem to be paying attention.

She had always noticed.

_Here goes nothing._

"Because I _know _you, Emmett. I know you, and you know me...you just don't remember."

* * *

The heat of the midday sun beamed down on the cracked earth. Bella toed the dirt, sighing as she rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. Bo was working, and Rosie-Rae was at the park with one of her new friends, so Bella found herself at a loose end.

With the A/C inside mediocre at best, she figured she'd take her chances out on the tiny shaded porch. Thanks to her spot on the steps, Bella spotted the big, black truck as soon as it turned onto her street. Her heart gave a thump before taking off at a sprint.

_Emmett._

When he heaved himself from the cab, his heavy demeanor made her chest ache. His eyes were shadowed with black, his shoulders rigid. She wondered if the last three days had been as cruel to him as they had been to her. She'd barely slept; it looked like he hadn't either. After excusing herself and telling him to call her when he was done processing, Bella had second-guessed her decision to leave over and over.

But he'd come to her, just as she hoped he would.

They stared at one another for an endless second.

"I don't remember."

The desolation and frustration in his whisper wrung Bella's heart.

"I know," she told him softly.

"I…" he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I want to talk, but I can't...I'm struggling. And I have questions."

"That's okay, I was expecting questions. You wouldn't be you without your interrogations."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"It's hot as hell in there. Have a seat, I'll get some cold drinks."

While she grabbed the lemonade pitcher and two glasses, Bella gave herself a quick pep talk. By the time she went back outside, McCarty was leaning against the porch railing with his large hands white-knuckling the wood.

"Why are you here?" he asked as soon as she stepped through the door.

Setting the tray down on the floor, she stepped up beside him. "Your mom is worried, and so am I."

McCarty released a shaky sigh. "Rosie-Rae...she's not a boy."

Bella couldn't hold back her laugh. "No, she's not. The scans were wrong. It was a surprise in the delivery room, that's for sure."

"I'll bet." Tipping his face toward her, he made no effort to hide the maelstrom of emotions twisting him up. "I haven't seen you since I woke up, or I'd remember."

Light though it was, his accusation stung. "I _tried._ You refused visitors for _months_, and I had two kids at home—a newborn and a broken-hearted little boy. Then you took off."

"That's...fair."

She _had _tried, many times, to go and see McCarty in the hospital. He put a block on visitors, and he'd refused to speak to Esme about it. Eventually, Bella had given up hope of him ever wanting to see her, and life, then distance, had gotten in the way

"Hold on one second."

It only took a minute for her to jog upstairs to her room and fetch the box of photos. His eyebrows jumped up his forehead when she sat, patting the step beside her and lifting the lid once he'd sunk to the porch.

"This is the last photo taken of all of you," she told him, her eyes burning at the look on his face when his trembling hand took the photo from her.

He looked at it for a long time. Then, "Can you show me the rest? I don't...it probably won't trigger anything, but I want to see."

"Of course!"

Over the following three hours, they looked through Bella's photos. She hauled out a couple of albums, laughing through her tears when McCarty barked a laugh at the image of him, Embry, and a couple of Bella's old neighbors all fast asleep on couches—the last family Thanksgiving they'd had.

They laughed, they cried, and by the time the lid was back on the box, his shoulders were looser and his smiles a little more frequent.

"Thank you," he finally breathed.

Bella hesitated, then shook her head.

Gazing down at her with a soft, almost guilty shake of his head, McCarty admitted, "It didn't...I don't remember anything new."

"I didn't really expect you to."

It was freeing, in a way, to admit that. It had the added benefit of making McCarty smile.

"All right," he said. "I'd better get goin'."

Bella checked her watch and acknowledged that it was time for her to go and collect Rosie-Rae from her friend's house. After stalling on the driveway, McCarty cleared his throat and left her to it.

"See you Thursday," she promised, her heart full and her smile a mile wide.

* * *

"You're _kidding_!"

Biting her lip to stifle her laughter so she didn't shake too much, Bella smiled into her arm. "I'm not, I swear!"

"Well, shit." Sitting back to admire his handiwork, McCarty shook his head and flashed her a grin that would have made her knees wobble if she'd been standing. "I really did that?"

"You really did."

McCarty scooted closer again, resuming the semi-painful shading on the tattoo while Bella's mind spun in a dizzying loop of memories—old and new, easy and difficult.

Every day since Sunday, McCarty had made a point of coming into the restaurant where she worked. He always sat in her section, and every time she passed the table or came to check on him, he'd asked her another question. Some things she couldn't answer, some she could.

"I didn't know you _that _well before," Bella had admitted. "But Embry talked about you all the time."

_"You know me—or at least the me of the last decade—better than I do."_

His words played on her mind. They ran amok with all the swoon-worthy smiles he'd gifted her and the warmth of his trust.

Falling for McCarty wasn't the goal here, but Bella could see that it might happen regardless. He was funny, sweet, and had an understated charm in the way he spoke and acted. He was head-over-heels for Rosie-Rae already, and when Bo stopped into the restaurant on Tuesday, hesitant because although McCarty didn't remember him, _he _remembered McCarty, it had gone well.

Bella's eyes slid shut, her smile as she recalled it bordered on painful, but she'd cried like a girl when Bo drew a surprised McCarty into a back-slapping hug right there in the middle of the restaurant.

"What's got you smilin' like the sun's shinin' just for you?"

Sighing, Bella shook her head slightly and opened her eyes. "Just you."

Her stomach flip-flopped as a pink hue infused the top of his ears. Freaking adorable.

"I, uh...huh."

Another few minutes passed before he sighed and wiped away some stray ink, murmuring, "There we go. All done."

Bella's eyes widened. "It's done?"

McCarty grinned wolfishly, sliding backwards before standing and offering a hand to help her up. "Careful, it'll be a little tender."

He guided her to stand in front of one of the floor-length mirrors, then held up a smaller one behind her so she could see the tattoo. Tears instantly pooled in her eyes and tumbled over her cheeks.

"It's perfect."

McCarty released a long sigh. His small smile was bashful when she met his eyes in the mirror. "It's always nerve-wracking, waiting to see if it's what the client wanted."

"It's…" Bella shook her head, laughing tearfully as she brushed the moisture from her cheeks and soaked in the image on her skin some more. "It's so much better than what I thought I wanted."

The warmth of McCarty's hand resting against her hip made her eyes flash back up to his face. He'd set down the mirror, his gaze intense and dark as he frowned at her.

Bella's breath caught as he closed the gap, only a hair's breadth between them.

Heat simmered in the air around them like summer on the horizon. Electricity crackled as his thumb twitched against her skin above the band of her leggings. Bella had opted for a sports bra today; the shaky breath she heaved in drew his attention. Bella's chest began to flush and her stomach knotted.

"What...what are you…"

"I need to…"

_Need to…_Bella licked her lips, watching, waiting.

Then he took a big, slightly awkward step back and scrubbed his face hard with his hands. The sudden absence of his touch sent a shiver up Bella's spine.

"I need to stop."

Whooshing out a breath, Bella felt her stomach drop to her feet. Then she steeled herself and slowly turned to face him, her deep inhale making her chest brush his.

Deep, nervous blue peered down at her, furrowed brows and pursed lips framing his gaze. He'd let his beard grow out in the last handful of years and no longer kept his hair military-short. He'd changed, but so had she.

"No," Bella whispered, harnessing her bravery and pulling up her metaphorical big girl pants. "You don't."

So slowly he could have pulled away if he'd wanted to, Bella lifted up on her tiptoes, closing the gap between their faces. He had several inches on her, but McCarty's eyes widened a beat before he caught on and dipped to cover the last bit of distance.

Their lips met gently, slowly, in a kiss that was as tentative as it was drugging. Bella shivered, McCarty's hands carefully coming to rest at her hips. His large palms were hot against her livewire skin, his thumbs at her hip bones and his pinky fingers almost touching at the small of her back.

A soft groan, a breathy sigh, then he slid one hand up her back, mindful of her fresh ink, until it could wind its way through her hair at the nape of her neck.

"_Emmett_…" Bella's voice was weak as she broke away to catch her breath, but McCarty didn't stop. He brushed hot kisses over her jaw and neck; from the soft skin below her ear to the hollow of her collarbone. Every cell in her body was alive. Her heart raced like a hummingbird, her legs wobbly. He edged her back, pressing her against the wall. McCarty was careful to hold her hip so her tattoo didn't touch the plaster, but she giggled a breathless laugh as her head gently knocked the corner of a frame hanging on the wall.

The clang of the frame beside it falling to the floor snapped them both out of the haze they'd fallen into.

Heaving in panted breaths, they stared at each other—dark, coffee brown to heated, tempest blue.

"This is complicated. _We're _complicated."

Bella smiled, touching her tingling, kiss-swollen lips. "I know. The best things usually are."

McCarty smirked, shaking his head with a soft chuckle that made Bella's stomach knot. "You're somethin' else, you know that?" His smile turned wistful, and...guilty? "I wish I could remember the first time I met you, but I'm sorta glad I don't. This way, I remember you as _you. _I don't remember you as Embry's. Does that...is that a dick thing to say?"

The ever-present ball of guilt in Bella's gut niggled, but she shook her head and slowly twined her fingers with McCarty's. "No, it's not a dick thing to say. I get it. I've spent the last four years trying to figure out how to feel and how to act. The truth is, there's no right or wrong. Is it complicated that we're attached to each other? Yes. Is it a bit weird that you don't remember me before a couple of weeks ago? Also yes."

McCarty coughed a laugh, squeezing her hand.

"But honestly? I don't _care_. I spent a whole year feeling guilty every time I smiled, all because my husband was dead." Tears pricked Bella's eyes. Despite everything, despite her new attraction to this new McCarty, she still missed Embry. He'd been her best friend long before he became _more_. "I can't—I _won't—_live my whole life like that."

In lieu of speaking, because he looked like he didn't know what to say, McCarty pulled her against his chest and wrapped her tight in his arms. She melted against him, her soft sigh raising goosebumps over his skin.

"I want to see where this goes, Bella. It's...it's complicated, but I want to try."

"I do, too." Peering up at him with wet eyelashes and a bashful smile, Bella sighed. "I have two kids, a shit job, and a truck load of baggage."

"I'm stubborn as a mule, I can't remember a third of my life, and I only have one and a half legs."

Snorting, she murmured "Touché," and hugged him tighter.

_We're going to try. That's all we can do._

* * *

In the weeks that followed, they stayed true to there word.

They _did _try.

McCarty squeezed himself between the booth seat and the table in her small kitchen exactly three times before declaring the space 'too small to swing a cat' and requesting that communal dinners were eaten in his more spacious kitchen-diner. There were no protests from Bo, who quickly fell in love with McCarty's home gym, or Rosie-Rae, who announced that his pool was 'her favorite thing ever' the very first time she clapped eyes on it.

It was strange at first, hearing Bo tell McCarty stories about the few times they'd met. McCarty looked through photo albums with him and regaled him with stories from basic training, which he did remember. Bell smiled and listened in, knowing her son had heard them a hundred times or more from his father, but also knowing he'd let McCarty tell him a hundred times more. He was a good kid.

Watching Rosie-Rae bond with him was another ballgame entirely. She'd never had a father figure, but as spring turned into summer turned into fall, Bella saw her adopting him as such. Instead of calling for her momma, she'd ask McCarty to open the ketchup, tie her shoelaces, and read bedtime stories.

Once Rosie-Rae and Bo were in bed, Bella and McCarty spent their nights learning about each other. It was strange, at first, but when they reminded themselves that it was okay to cry, to remember and reminisce but also to smile and laugh and rejoice in their lives _now_, they slowly fell.

So slowly that it almost didn't occur to her until Christmas Eve, when she'd just seen Carlisle and Esme out as they headed back to their hotel until tomorrow and was writing out labels for the gifts under the tree and found herself staring at the 'love, Bella xx' she'd just scrawled on McCarty's gift.

_Love._

Do I?

A smile spread across her face as she realized that yes, she did. Unable to contain the joy bubbling inside her, she scrambled off the hardwood and ignored the pop of her knee in her haste to get upstairs. In the room Rosie-Rae had claimed, the one beside McCarty's master suite, Bella found her son, daughter, and McCarty sprawled out on blankets on the floor. A fort made of blankets was spread above them and tied around the bedpost and the dresser, only their feet peeking out of the end.

Tears welled in Bella's eyes as she listened to McCarty dutifully reading _The Night Before Christmas _in his best book-reading voice.

Clearing the lump from her throat, she smiled shakily when three heads popped out. Bo looked ambivalent, but his smile widened when he clocked his momma's expression. Maybe he knew more than he let on. Rosie-Rae looked irritated that story time was being interrupted, her little features tightened by her scowl.

McCarty simply cocked his head in question. "Is everythin' okay, darlin'?"

"Fine, um, fine. Can I...borrow you for a sec?"

"Sure. Bo, you can take over. Ya'll stay here and I'll be back."

"But you're better at reading, McCarty!" Rosie-Rae whined, quickly quieting when Bo promised to sneak her candy from his stash.

McCarty struggled to wiggle out, rolling his eyes and huffing once he made it upright. Bella tugged him out into the hall, wondering if it would be more romantic to take him downstairs to the Christmas tree before deciding she didn't care, she couldn't wait—

"God, I love you."

_Wait, what?_

McCarty chuckled, cradling her face in his large hands. "Did I beat you to it?"

"I...yes!" Bella lightly smacked his chest, laughing even as tears spilled over her cheeks. "How did you know?"

"I didn't, but you just looked so damn nervous all of a sudden, I couldn't help but say it. Come with me." Tugging her down the stairs, McCarty led her right to the Christmas tree. He rustled around underneath it before pulling out a small, square, silver-wrapped box.

Bella's breath caught.

"I may not remember all the time we've spent together, darlin'," he began solemnly, turning the box over and around in his hand—the one tattooed with her name as well as Bo's and Rosie-Rae's. "But the time I can remember? They're the best memories I have. I might never get back the ones I lost, and I've made my peace with that, but I won't ever make peace with losing you, so…"

Easing himself carefully onto his one good leg, McCarty glanced heavenward and murmured something too soft for her to hear before meeting her tearful gaze and opening the ring box. "Bella Marie Collins, I can't ever lose you..._or_ those heathens eavesdropping in the hallway."

Bella giggle-snorted, Bo sheepishly carrying a giddy-with-excitement Rosie-Rae around the corner.

"Will you marry me, Bella?"

Smiling and glancing toward the picture of a band of brothers on the mantle, Bella sucked in a shaky breath and nodded. _I'm keeping my promise, Embry. And we'll all look after each other. I know you'd approve._

"Of course. Of course I'll marry you."


End file.
